


Our Place in the Sun

by Galesta (serviceace)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drinking & Talking, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serviceace/pseuds/Galesta
Summary: In a time where tomorrows are never promised, never loving anything means there’s nothing to lose. Even still, every time their eyes meet, for that one, brief second, Hanzo and Jesse feel consumed. They both know it, that indescribable feeling shared between the two, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire, but which neither wants to begin. Although afraid of attaining more irreplaceable things, they just can’t seem to stay away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write about two middle aged men falling in love and realizing that it's okay to want things in life ok

It is under the glow of moonlight and stardust when Hanzo arrives at the Rock of Gibraltar.

He is alone of course, carrying nothing but a rucksack in his hands and a quiver strapped to his back, and that alone makes him feel like a stranger. The metal doors before him look cold and uninviting, practically screaming at him to leave, but he does not falter. Instead, he straightens his form and begins scanning the area around him. He can see overturned concrete and rubble, blue tarp encrusted in dirt, and dusty structures left to ruin.

It looks abandoned — unwanted — and desolate.

Hanzo frowns almost immediately. _Why would Genji tell me to come here?_

His younger brother’s parting words that day in Hanamura had haunted him greatly. What exactly did he mean when he said that the world was changing again? That he had to pick a side? Hanzo would have left it well alone had it not been for the letter he received several months after their fateful reunion in Hanamura. Undeniably Genji’s handwriting, the letter boasted nothing but the coordinates of a location that led him here. He could still remember the brown feather that fell out of the envelope, (of which he still carried on him) and treasured it greatly. This place was important to Genji for some reason and Hanzo was determined to find out why.

Almost like a constant reminder of the actions of his past, the feeling of remorse washes over him again.

_I owe him that much at least_ , Hanzo laments.

Part of him feels like he doesn’t belong here and honestly, that part of him is right, he really doesn’t. _As if I could ever truly be forgiven for what I’ve done,_ Hanzo thinks, bitterly. He often wonders if it ever got easier — living that is — but he’s not a fool, not anymore anyway.

Hanzo has had his fair share of vulnerabilities; feeling so lost and alone that it pissed him off and even being manipulated and scorned. Usually he remedied that by drinking himself into oblivion until he passed out in the alleyway, only to be roused awake by the smell of cheap booze and used cigarettes.

Not enough time has passed since Hanzo began his road to redemption; he’s at least ten years too early.

Genji might have come to peace about everything that had transpired between them but it was his blood that was still on Hanzo’s hands, and that was something that could never be forgiven. Even now, Hanzo dreamt of steel blades and tear-stricken cheeks, eyes that burned with betrayal and fear.

Hanzo remembers a time when those brown eyes were filled with life.

But that had been many years ago, back when they were still children.

The very first time Hanzo held Genji, his mother once asked him something, something that would haunt him forever. He could still remember her gentle hands as she combed through his hair. “Do you know why you were born first?” When he told her it was so he could lead the clan, she smiled sadly and tickled his nose, shaking her head. “No,” she said. “It’s so you can protect the little ones that come after you.”

For fifteen long years, he honored that promise.

It was not until his mother’s passing nearly two weeks after he turned twenty-five did he realize that before he became an older brother, he had been and always would be, a Shimada. He had been lied to, manipulated, and praised by the elders until he could do nothing else but leave. They wanted to reward him for straightening out his wayward brother but what could possibly amount to that of a life?

_There is still so much I have to learn and so much I have to atone for_ , Hanzo thinks, pushing away those awful memories of his past with a shake of his head _._  Knowing he shouldn’t delay it any longer, he takes a moment to compose himself. Inhaling deeply and exhaling just as deeply, he centers himself and holds his head up high, his hands curling into fists by his sides. _But it is something I must do._

Fearlessly, Hanzo takes a step forward, watching as the grand doors in front of him slowly began to open. Even in the darkness, he could make out a figure stepping out to meet him and he practically braces himself, holding himself up straight. “Greetings,” he offers.  

“You must be Hanzo,” the gorilla says, adjusting his glasses. “My name is Winston.”

If he thought it was strange to be talking to a gorilla, he certainly didn’t show it and simply inclines his head, bowing politely. “Yes,” Hanzo says, bending at the waist and closing his eyes. “I take it Genji informed you I would be coming? He mentioned you in his letter.”

Winston’s face crinkles a bit as he grins a toothy grin. “We hoped you would.”

_We, not he._ Taking note of that particular bit of information, Hanzo simply nods, straightening his form and gripping his rucksack tighter. Genji sent that letter months ago. They must have been here waiting on him this whole time. He suddenly feels awkward. “My apologies for the wait.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all!” Winston denies, holding up his hands. “If anything, we’re glad to have you.” He seemed to fumble a bit, seemingly awkward himself, and gestures behind him. “Would you like to come in? There’s still a lot to be said, I know, but I imagine you must be tired from your travels. We can talk tomorrow morning once you’ve rested.”

Shit. “That is not necessary —” Hanzo tries.

“Nonsense,” Winston says, pivoting on his feet and already making his way back into the Watchpoint. “A warm bed does wonders, I assure you. I’ll have Athena set you up with a room… It’ll only take a second!” Pulling up the communication device on his right arm, Winston mumbles something incoherent as he begins inputting some codes. “You’ll be locked out some areas until you’re officially registered but I don’t see any harm in giving you access to the recreation areas...” Winston then stops and blinks. “Oh, right.” Turning back towards Hanzo who hadn’t quite moved from his spot in the door frame, he adjusts his glasses. “Before you tuck in for the night however, please pay a visit to Dr. Ziegler in the medical wing. She’ll want to see you.” And with that, he went about on his way without a backwards glance.

Hanzo watches him go with a somewhat worrying expression. Casting his eyes to the metaled floors, he feels his resolve shake slightly. He was a wanderer — a person without a home to go to — and hadn’t slept in a bed in years. He didn’t like the attachment or finality that came with having a home; it reminded him too much of his ill-fated mistakes all those years ago. _But_ , the sympathetic side of his brain reasons. _It’s what Genji would have wanted_.

There’s hesitation in his moves, he knows this, but he musters on as fearlessly as he can. Bracing a hand against the door frame, he pulls himself forward, drawing on its strength because he honestly still feels like has no place here. Overwatch does not want him; they want his skills, his marksmanship, and his aim, but they do not want him, the infamous kinslayer. The self-loathing comes in waves, but they pass in time if he waits long enough. This is one of those times. It’ll come back though, he knows it will.

_You are a dragon,_ the ancients ones tell him. _Be a dragon._

It was just one step — one, measly, little step — and yet, he feels an odd sense of accomplishment when he takes it. A rush of adrenaline courses through his veins. It’s unfair.

_Well done, little one_ , they praise.

Hearing the doors shut behind him, Hanzo allows himself a brief moment to explore but his wandering does not take him far for the medbay is vastly approaching. He can tell by the warm yellow tones and red crosses etched along the walls. The lights are still on which means this Dr. Ziegler is still expecting him. Hanzo crosses the threshold and does quick survey of the room before a voice, one that is distinctly female and accented, greets him.

“Hello,” she says. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Looking towards the direction of the voice, Hanzo tries not to let the surprise show on his face at what he sees. There’s a blonde woman dressed in a white overcoat tending to a man who looks a little worse for wear and while he logically can discern that this is Dr. Ziegler, the man before him is unknown territory.

She has her back towards him but Hanzo can see that she’s running her hands along the man’s left arm, fingers squeezing and rubbing against the skin in what he can only assume is an attempt to soothe his pain. He has bandages wrapped around his midsection and a cut down his left eye, but it’s the red and gold serape he has thrown over his shoulders that warrants Hanzo’s attention. It looks warm.

“Howdy,” the man greets, not at all perturbed with Hanzo’s staring.

As if realizing his misstep, Hanzo clears his throat. “My apologies,” he says, going absolutely rigid. “I see that you are busy so I shall return later.” Immediately turning to look away so he can give the two some privacy, he fumbles with the strap of his rucksack and grips it harder. He’s a stranger to these parts; he should have known he wasn’t wanted here. _This was a mistake_. _I should leave_. _I need to leave._

“It’s alright,” the man replies, his voice smoothing Hanzo over like whiskey on a lonely night. It’s almost unfair how easily he says it, his brows shooting up a little in amusement as he watches Hanzo hesitantly turn back around to face them. “Name’s McCree. Jesse McCree, that is.” Nodding his head back at Hanzo, McCree flashes him a charming smile.  “And you, darlin’?”

Hanzo doesn’t reply at first and sucks in a breath, practically preparing himself for the judgement and hateful glares he know he’ll get. Overwatch saved his brother’s life — of course they’d know of the power-hungry dragon that tore him apart.  “Hanzo,” he answers, after some time. “Hanzo Shimada.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, Dr. Ziegler smiles politely but it does not quite reach her eyes. “Welcome.” They say that the eyes are a window to one’s soul. Hanzo believes it. “You are Genji’s brother then, yes?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“How is he?” Dr. Ziegler asks, seemingly testing him. “The last I heard from him, he was in Nepal with the Shambali. That was well over a month ago though. I trust he has been well?”

A frown mars Hanzo’s handsome features almost instantly. “I’m afraid I do not know.” The fact that he doesn’t know is just another testament to how estrange the brothers have become. Genji wrote to him months ago, back in December, and it was nearly April now. “I was hoping my brother —,” he stiffens a little at that, tasting poison on his lips, and clears his throat. “I was hoping Genji would be here,” Hanzo recovers.

Dr. Ziegler only hums. “He is not.”

“When will he be? Is it soon?”

“Within the month, probably.”

The frown on Hanzo’s face only deepens. “I see…” He fumbles a bit as he looks away once more, knowing well enough when he wasn’t wanted. Truth be told, he’s not at all surprised at her hostility, but she didn’t seem at all like the Dr. Ziegler in Genji’s letters.   _I don’t blame her though_ , Hanzo thinks. _After all, I’m the one who did this to him._  Still, he tries one last time. “Is he well at least?”

“Well enough, I’m sure,” Dr. Ziegler replies, her voice snip and short, though her eyes soften every so slightly. “He seemed to be in good spirits when last we spoke.” When she deems McCree’s arm fit, she finally turns to look over her shoulder at him but the expression on her face is frighteningly neutral. Practically sizing him up, Dr. Ziegler raises a thin brow. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” Hanzo lies. He’ll worry about food later once he’s back outside.

McCree, who had been quietly listening to the exchange between the two, twiddles the toothpick between his lips. “Hey, Shimada. I hear you’re pretty handy with that bow,” he says, changing the subject. “We’ve got a shooting range out back if you’re ever itching for some practice. I know I wouldn’t mind some competition every now and then.”

Immediately flicking his eyes over to him, Hanzo blinks once, twice, and then a third time as his brows furrowed in confusion. Having not had (reputable) social interactions within the last few years, he was not accustomed to being so easily invited. It came with the territory, being a wanderer and whatnot, but Hanzo managed fine without it. Still, McCree’s warmth washes over him in waves. There was a sense of genuinity to his words that did not go unnoticed by Hanzo so he couldn’t help but nod curtly.  “Perhaps at another time.”

“It’s not a no,” McCree shrugs. “I’ll take it.” He makes a move to stand up and wraps an arm around his midsection, grunting a little at the shift in position. Dr. Ziegler immediately helps to support him until he’s on his feet and it makes him smile at her in relief. “Thank you kindly, Angie.”

“You know, you really should take better care of yourself,” she sighs.

“I’m positive you’ll have me patched up in no time.” Leaning down to brush his lips against her cheek, something that made Hanzo turn away once more, McCree flashes her a brilliant smile before accepting his hat back from her outstretched hands. “I can take it from here.” After placing the hat on top of his head, McCree looks towards Hanzo. “Hey, Shimada?”

Wordlessly turning towards McCree, Hanzo can’t help but frown when he sees the other man’s left arm. What should have been flesh and bone was scarred, right above the elbow, and it made him feel almost ill. Did the injury happen recently? Judging from the color though, it didn’t appear to be, but then why would Dr. Ziegler be treating him for it? _Does is still ail him?_

“I’m sure you’re mighty tired. How about I show you to your room?”

Hanzo’s eyes turn to look at Dr. Ziegler and although she frowns back, she does nod her head in agreement. “It’s quite alright,” she says. “We can meet tomorrow. You do look like you could get some rest.” Brushing back the sleeve of her white coat, Angela hums a little as she looks at the time. “Be at my office around nine or so in the morning and we can take it from there.”

“You have my thanks,” Hanzo says, bowing politely at her. She seemed as eager as he was to avoid a confrontation, at least one so late at night when neither party wanted to meet. “I hope you have a good night, Dr. Ziegler.”

“You as well, Mr. Shimada,” Dr. Ziegler replies, lifting a hand in farewell before turning to McCree. It was like something shifted as the smile on her face became radiant. “Goodnight, Jesse! Torbjorn and I will have your arm ready for you in a few days, okay? Unless he somehow manages to fix it tonight.”

“That’ll do just fine.” Tipping his hat at her with his good hand, McCree smiles. “Sweet dreams, Angie. Don’t stay up too late now, you hear?” She laughs and promises she won’t, but McCree knows better. Retrieving his black shirt, the other man nudges his head towards the door in a silent gesture to get Hanzo to follow him.

Hanzo does so quietly.

A companionable silence falls between them as they venture deeper through the base. They walk together side-by-side, not close enough that their shoulders brush, but close enough that Hanzo can feel the warmth radiating off the other’s body. McCree is taller than him, that much is obvious, but anyone with eyes could see the cleverness behind those tired, brown eyes. Watching as McCree replaces the toothpick between his lips with an unlit cigar, Hanzo raises a brow in amusement. Before he can ask, McCree beats him to it.

“I try not to smoke in front of her,” McCree explains. “She’s been on my ass about it for years and can’t stand it.”

“That’s good of you,” Hanzo replies, not quite sure what else to say. This is new to him. Casual conversation? Small talk? He’s not good at this sort of thing. Thankfully, McCree doesn’t elaborate and continues leading him towards the dormitories, his cigar now lit and smoking.

An avid smoker himself, Hanzo doesn’t want to admit how pleasant the smell is. He’s been itching for a smoke since he got here, but preferred to do it within the comforts of his own privacy. There were things people should and shouldn’t see and this was one of them. _I could do with a drink too_ , he thinks, right hand moving to lightly palm at the thermos strapped to his belt loop.

“This should be it,” McCree suddenly says, causing Hanzo to look back towards him. Leaning down a little, he runs a hand through his hair and cards his fingers through it to pull back his bangs. The retinal scan chimes and sings as it works to unlock its doors, McCree humming along softly under his breath as he works to support his midsection once more. “These rooms haven’t been used in a long time,” McCree explains, stepping to the side as the doors open. “I reckon you could use some peace and quiet.”

That was kind of him.

“Thank you,” Hanzo replies. “I shall retire then.”

McCree nods and tips his hat just like before with Dr. Ziegler. “I’ll see you around, Shimada.”

Waiting until McCree’s back disappears behind the corner, Hanzo lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding. _I can’t stay here_ , he thinks. McCree mentioned that he had known Dr. Ziegler for years. Does that mean he was also part of Overwatch all those years ago? Was he part of Overwatch when Genji was left bleeding to death and barely clinging to life on the streets of Hanamura? Did he see what Hanzo did to him? He must have. They all must have. He was a fool to think he could find redemption here. _And yet,_  Hanzo finds himself thinking. _They have already welcomed me into their home._

It hasn’t been much more than a couple of hours since Hanzo has been here and yet Overwatch has already shown him a kindness he does not deserve. Winston allowed him entry, and to some extent, Dr. Ziegler shown a bit of concern for him as well, but McCree on the other hand gave him something he hadn’t had in a long time.

No judgement. None.

Hanzo doesn’t even want to admit how lonely it makes him feel. _This is not something I deserve._ After some time, he sighs and shakes his head. “I should go,” he says, aloud this time. Bowing to no one in particular, ever mindful of his manners, the archer leaves in the same direction he came.

 

* * *

 

“You should have seen her face, Genji,” Jesse murmurs, swirling the drink in his hand. “She was not happy, not at all.” Watching as the bourbon dances and the ice cubes clink together, he furrows a brow and sighs with a shake of his head. “Listen, I’ve known Angie for years and I ain’t ever seen her like that before.”

Genji chuckles kindly. “She is quite protective me, I agree.”

“After what he did to you, I don’t blame her,” Jesse replies. Propping his feet up on the table, something he knew he probably shouldn’t be doing, he brings the glass to his lips and takes a small sip as he makes himself comfortable. “She’s just watching out for you.”

A low hum sings from Genji’s throat and Jesse smiles a little at how fond it sounds. “I know,” he says. “I owe Angela my life and I will always be grateful for that but,” there’s a hiss of steam through the comms device as Genji removes his face-plate and helmet in an attempt to get comfortable, “This is out of her hands now, she cannot protect me forever.”

“Yeah? You know Angie would never take that laying down,” Jesse points out. “She’s a real spitfire, that one. I learned my lesson a long time ago.”

Despite the severity of the conversation, Genji laughs once more. “And she only grows stronger and stronger every day.” They lapse into a companionable silence, both listening to the comforting sounds of each other breathing before Jesse is the one to break it.

“I can see it in his eyes, you know,” Jesse says, after some time.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know his type, alright? He’s lost, angry, and confused. He’s just like I was before Reyes picked me up and set me straight. The only difference is that he doesn’t have anyone to look for him.”

“Yes,” Genji agrees. “It seems he has been that way for many years. You see, Jesse, my family were not good people and my brother and I suffered because of it. We were trained to fight and to kill from such a young age that I honestly don’t even remember when it all began. He was manipulated, just as I was, if not, even more so, and it killed him too. Two Shimadas died that day, but only one was saved.”

Jesse takes another sip of his whiskey, his eyes hard yet sullen at the same time, and grunts. “This sure as hell ain’t Overwatch, Genji, and it ain’t Blackwatch either. If this war really is coming, I need to know who I can and can’t trust.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Reyes,” Genji says, almost too serenely. “Have you gone back to being cynical in your old age? He wouldn’t have wanted that for you, Jesse.”

McCree stiffens almost immediately at that.

Reyes.

Now _that_ was a sore subject for him, one that he still wasn’t ready to (fully) talk about

On nights when when the world was too quiet, there were times when Jesse still felt like he was still haunted by his boss’ ghost. Even now, Jesse could still see that smug face of his and that dumb, old beanie of his. _Not again_ , Jesse chastises himself as he abandons his whiskey to pinch at the bridge of his nose. Reyes is grinning now, ruffling his hair after a job well-done. _Not again_. Forcing himself to inhale deeply and exhale just as deeply, Jesse can feel his lips twitching for a smoke, but he settles with gripping his glass of whiskey again. “You really think he has what it takes?” Jesse asks, trying to change the subject.

“Skill-wise? Of course he does,” Genji scoffs, clicking his tongue a little in mild annoyance. “Even with this body, Hanzo is a far better warrior that I could ever be. He is ruthless by all accounts. You’ve seen his work.” His tone is smug, but Jesse can tell it lacks bite.

Still, he can’t help but feel uneasy. “Don’t sass me, Genji. You know damn well that’s not what I meant,” Jesse throws back. “I need to know if I’m going to wake up with an arrow in my chest or worse,” his face immediately contorts into that of disgust as he nods his head over at the dusty picture frame on the wall of the old Overwatch from years ago. “Their blood on these here walls.”

Genji is quiet for a moment before, “He looks a lot like you.”

Unable to resist the urge for much longer, Jesse fumbles for a cigar and lights it, taking a deep drag of it once he’s able to. He exhales the smoke and runs a hand through his messy hair. “That’s what scares me,” he replies. “I told you, I know his type.”

“What will you do then?”

Thinking back to when Hanzo first arrived, Jesse lets out a thoughtful hum, almost like he’s seriously considering the question. He’s heard countless stories of the power-hungry dragon that tore his little brother apart in an attempt to set him straight, and watched Genji destroy himself from the inside because of it, but all the stories did nothing to prepare him for the real thing.  Hanzo was fierce, that much was obvious, but there was a sadness in his eyes that did not go unnoticed. He’s seen that hollow look many times before. He’s seen it in mirrors, in Genji, and worse, in himself. Luckily, he had Reyes to fall back on while Genji had his master’s teachings, but Hanzo? Hanzo didn’t have anyone. He honestly felt a little sorry for the guy.

“Jesse?” Genji asks, the silence proving too long. “What will you do?”

With a shake of his head, Jesse sighs and gets to his feet, abandoning the half-finished glass of whiskey on the side table to instead, take the bottle with him. He holds it by the neck, not even bothering to grab the cap, and takes a lazy swig of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Me? I’m going to fuckin’ bed.” Shrugging on his serape, he pulls it closer to his body and begins making his way out of the recreation room.

Genji isn’t convinced. “We both know you don’t sleep.”

“I’ll see you later, Genji.”

“Goodnight, Jesse.”

Jesse reaches up to the cuff on his ear and disconnects the call. He walks in the direction of the dormitories, passing his room in particular, until he’s over at the northern end of the halls where he last left Hanzo. It doesn’t make him a genius to know that if he were open it, Hanzo would not be inside. “Slippery bastard,” Jesse grunts, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle. He’s outside in a matter of minutes, ascending the lifts and making his way towards the trail of smoke wafting about in the sky.

It doesn't take him long to find Hanzo at all.


	2. Chapter 2

“I figured you’d be out here.”

Not even bothering to look up, Hanzo hums in reply and sets down his thermos, practically tucking it into his lap. “I do not do well with beds,” he explains, hoping that will suffice. A crunching of earth alerts him to McCree approaching from behind him and he turns to look over his shoulder to give him a brief nod.

“I hear you there, partner.” McCree moves towards him and saddles up right beside him, setting aside his bottle of whiskey so he can pull out his lighter. He’s still dressed in nothing but his baggy pants and serape, his bandages glowing bright and orange against Hanzo’s fire. “It feels a little too permanent, you know? Like you’ve got something to go back to.” Taking a deep drag of his cigar, he revels at the warmth blooming in his chest. “I reckon this suits folks like us better.”

“Us?” Hanzo questions, fixing the other with a raised brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a look in his eyes that Hanzo can’t quite place but he doesn’t comment on it. “What do you know of me?”

A smug look crosses McCree’s handsome face as he shrugs. “Nothin’ good, I’ll be honest,” he admits. Even from the corner of his eyes, he can see Hanzo stiffen beside him, and he wordlessly offers him the bottle of whiskey in an unsung message. Hanzo declines of course, but his eyes seem to linger on the cigar between McCree’s lips, so he can’t help but ask. “It botherin’ you? I noticed you were lookin’ at my cigar earlier when we were in the medbay.”

Hanzo shakes his head. “No, it does not.”

“Well, alright then,” McCree says. “Give me a holler if it ever does.”

Lightly drumming his fingers against his bicep, Hanzo looks to his side, and frowns. “Dr. Ziegler…” He looks uncomfortable, awkward even, as the rhythmic drumming slowly starts to get faster. “Dr. Ziegler does not to seem to like me, does she?”

“I can’t imagine she would.”

Although it stings, Hanzo appreciates his honesty, so he nods a little in understanding. “I see.” Looking down at his hands which are now folded in his lap, Hanzo bristles slightly, his brows furrowing in dismay. “I do not blame her.” His fingers twitch a little, but he does his best not to take another drink from his thermos, at least, not while in the presence of McCree. _I refuse to let him to see_ , Hanzo thinks. _No one should ever see me like this._

McCree is silent for a moment, his eyes zeroing in on Hanzo’s fingers specifically, before he lets out an amused chuckle. “You don’t gotta hide anything from me, Shimada, besides,” he then smiles, his forehead wrinkling a little. “It’s been a while since I had a good drinking buddy.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes now. “You think you can keep up?”

Watching as McCree dangles his whiskey bottle in front of him, Hanzo’s brow crinkle a bit as he lets out a light chuckle. “How gaudy.” Still, he does not reach for his sake, and instead, clears his throat. “Where do you think Genji is?”

“I reckon he’s still in Nepal, but it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen him.” Looking up at the sky, McCree knocks back another drink. “It’s been about ten years, I think? He left Overwatch before I did.”

Hanzo fidgets slightly. “Why?”

“It’s not my place to say,” McCree mutters. “You’ll just have to ask him yourself one day.”

Casting his eyes downwards now, completely opposite to McCree who was still looking wistfully at the sky, Hanzo sucks in a breath. He struggles to find the words. “Can you…” He shakes his head, fingers aching to reach for his thermos. “Can you tell me what he was like? Back then?”

“Angry,” the gunslinger answers, almost instantly. “Powerful, but angry too.”

“I see.”

Taking another drag of his cigar, McCree flicks off the greying ash at the end of it once he’s done. “He didn’t talk much, only when he had to, and kept to himself mostly. I don’t think I ever saw him laugh or smile for years, at least, not while we were in Blackwatch together.” He then stops to laugh, a welcomed sound among the seabreeze, and shakes his head. “I swear, Angie got more words outta him than I ever did.”

A chuckle rumbles from Hanzo’s throat at that as he allows a small smile to grace his lips. “Ah, she loves him, doesn’t she? I can tell.”

McCree laughs too. “We all do, but they’ve always been sweet on each other. You should’ve seen them dancing ‘round each other.” Shaking his head fondly, McCree sighs a little as he looks up at the stars.  “I didn’t think he’d ever say anything to her.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Genji I once knew,” Hanzo hums. “He used to chase anything that smiled.”

The corner of McCree’s lips curve upwards. “Well partner, sometimes people change.”

“Does he treat her well?”

“He better,” McCree grins, looking somewhat wolfish as he leans back against the cliffside to stretch out his legs. “She’s one the best damn things about this shitty world. We’re all lost if she’s gone.” He hums lowly under his breath and moves to take another drink from his whiskey bottle, his cheeks growing warm due to the effects of the alcohol. “So tell me, Shimada,” he says, changing the subject once more as the smile disappears from his face. “What’s your game here?”

Expression perplexed, Hanzo fixes the other with a raised brow. “Game? What do you mean?”

“What are you doing here?” McCree says, rather bluntly. He doesn’t miss a beat, that smooth voice of his now dropping into a low sound. He doesn’t even look at Hanzo and instead, grounds his cigar into the rocky cliffside behind him. “Are you trying to prove something?”

There’s a bit of hesitation on his face, but as the crinkles slowly being to smooth out, Hanzo finally takes a sip from his thermos and immediately tastes the burn. He doesn’t sense any hostility from the other man, but a part of him feels wary still. “I don’t know,” he replies, his voice honest and quiet.  It’s been some time since he’s had any real interaction and it shows. Just like before, that feeling of awkwardness washes over him. “I was hoping I would know more when I got here.”

“Genji send you?”

He scoffs a little. “Not quite.”

“You gotta give me something here.” McCree says, patiently. “I need to know why you’re here and what your intentions are. This ain’t official Overwatch, but those people in there?” He nudges his head over at the watchpoint. “They’re real and they’re about the only family I got left.”

Hanzo knows a threat when he sees one. “That must be nice.” Standing his ground however, he reaches over to McCree and plucks the whiskey bottle right from his hands. He downs the rest of it quickly, throwing his head back and missing McCree’s piqued brow. Once he’s done, the archer chuckles lightly. “But I can’t say I feel the same,” Hanzo says.

“Now hold on there,” McCree begins. “Genji’s alive.”

“Indeed, but he’s no brother of mine.”

A shadow crosses McCree’s eye as his forehead begins to crease with annoyance. “Listen here, Shimada—”

“I don’t deserve to call myself his brother after what I did,” Hanzo says, softly and regretfully. “I was supposed to protect him and keep him safe.” His cheeks grow warm as he tips the bottle back once more to try and drain the last of McCree’s alcohol. “I thought I was doing that from the very beginning.” Fingers clenching over the bottle of whiskey now, Hanzo shakes his head in dismay at the memories of his past. “I’m a fool.”

McCree stares at him intensely, his gaze unwavering. Almost as if he was contemplating something, he takes a moment to size Hanzo up, his eyes never once leaving Hanzo’s face. Frustratingly, he can’t seem to find whatever he’s looking for. After a few seconds however, he lets out a sigh and shrugs before reaching over with his good hand to take Hanzo’s thermos. McCree brings it to his lips and takes a sip. “Ain’t we all,” he laments.

Pointedly ignoring McCree’s wince at his sake, Hanzo continues. “You ask what I’m doing here? I’ve been asking myself the same thing ever since I first arrived.” Hiding a pained grimace over the brim of his fist, Hanzo finds himself leaning his head back against the rocky cliffside. In a world of heroes, he just didn’t belong. Overwatch was built on saving people, so where did he fit in? _I can’t even save myself_ , Hanzo thinks.

He hates how pitiful he sounds.

After a few minutes, McCree finally turns to face him, and his eyes burn through Hanzo like embers in the night. “You still came though, didn’t you?” McCree points out, brows raised in a matter-of-fact way. “I reckon that already makes you different than before.”

“I supposed I did,” Hanzo replies. A part of him wishes he could look away, but the intensity of McCree’s eyes have him locked into place. When had he ever seen such honest, brown eyes? “I thought I could find redemption here,” he says, finally answering McCree’s question. “But I don’t recognize this world anymore.”

“You don’t have to recognize it,” McCree replies. “You just have to save it.”

Hanzo can’t help but voice his demons once more. “Why would want Overwatch a murderer?”

“Look, this ain’t all about Overwatch, alright? This is about saving people's lives and making a difference in the world.”

“People die every day,” Hanzo frowns. “What can one man do?”

“You can put a stop to it, can’t you?” McCree cuts in, shaking his head.  “If you’re anything like Genji, you can do some pretty amazing things.” Before Hanzo can interrupt, McCree fixes the other with a hardened look. “Good things,” McCree adds, more so clarifies.  He stands to his feet, dusting his pants as he does so, and reaches out to him with his palm facing up. His eyes haven’t lost that smoldering luster as the moonlight shines down on them both. “The way I see it, you’ve got a real chance to do right and make things better. You want to prove it to Genji that you’ve changed? Show him. Show us.”

And just like that, something thunders within Hanzo, roaring and raging inside him like the very dragons he calls to his side.  Hanzo wants to believe him, truly he does, but he can’t stop the painful twisting of his heart. “I’ve been trying to reclaim my honor for years. What could Overwatch ever give me?”

“Redemption,” McCree states. “Only this time, you won’t be doing it alone.” Almost unwavering, he does not let up, his palm still up for Hanzo to take. “I won’t lie to you, Shimada. They’ll hate you, scorn you, and stare at you like a deer in the headlights, but trust me when I say that they will never,” McCree stresses the last word, piercing through Hanzo like a gunshot, “They will never _ever_ leave you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hanzo asks. “You speak as though you have experience.”

Although faint, the corner of McCree’s lips curves up into another smile. “I’ve been there, alright? They hated me too, always gave me the stink eye whenever I was around — like I was dirt under their boots — but give it time.” Despite the grim nature of his words, the look on his face was fond, almost as if he was reminiscing of a life long since past. “It’s get better, you’ll see.”

Hanzo looks up at him and his fingers twitch with adrenaline, heart hammering in his chest. _Can I trust him?_ He feels like he can. He wants to. “Can I trust you?” The question slips out before he can’t even stop himself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” McCree says, nodding. “What about you, Shimada? Can I trust you?”

Eyes growing wide, Hanzo sucks in a breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more admirable man in his entire life. So much so, that Hanzo barely registers that he’s reaching his hand out for McCree to take until he feels himself being pulled to his feet with the warmth of McCree’s hand in his. “Yes,” he answers, determinedly.

McCree smiles, a real, honest-to-god smile, and grips Hanzo’s hand firmly, giving it a good shake “Well, alright, then.”

No more words are exchanged between the two, but the atmosphere feels oddly serene. They don’t quite move away, but they also don’t mind the company, because for strangers like them,  it was oddly enough.

It was finally enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love having to fix ao3 formatting lol

Just as Dr. Ziegler instructed, Hanzo is up and ready by nine o’clock sharp. He’s always been the punctual type but he also didn’t like wasting time, so here he was, standing outside her office and patiently waiting to be called in. Since he had some time however, he leans back against the wall adjacent to the door and crosses his arms, his mind whirling with thoughts of last night.

After a few more sips of sake was shared between the two, they called it quits and McCree disappeared back into the watchpoint. He offered to show Hanzo to his room again before he left, but the other politely declined and told him that he wasn’t ready for that quite yet.

“I’ll see you around, Shimada,” McCree told him, tipping his hat with a quirked brow and leaving in the same direction he came. Hanzo nodded back at him and watched him go, eyes following the trails of red and gold until they disappeared behind the rocky cliffs.  

Looking back on it now, Hanzo honestly hadn’t expected to speak to him so freely, but it’s been quite some time since he’s had anyone to drink with, and it definitely showed. _I’ll have to buy him some more whiskey_ , he thinks. It was the polite thing to do after all.

He hears the soft padding of flats and turns his attention towards them, standing up straight once he sees who it is. “Good morning, Dr. Ziegler,” he says, bending at the waist and bowing his head in a respectful nod.

“Good morning,” Dr. Ziegler greets back, lightly touching his arm as she walks past him to unlock the door to her office. “Have you eaten yet? If not, please make sure to do so after we’re finished here.”

Finding himself relaxing a little at her warm admission, Hanzo nods in thanks. “I’ll be sure to.”

Dr. Ziegler seemed to be in much better spirits today; a much more softer smile on her face as she hums. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was dressed in white, cream-colored pants that contrasted well with her dark hoodie. It looked slightly too big for her, with the way it hung off her shoulders and how she had it cuffed at the forearm, but Hanzo couldn’t help but appreciate how comfortable she looked.

“Please, come in. You can hang your coat there and put your things away over there,” she told him, pointing out various places in her office. “I’ll be with you in just a few minutes, I just need to get a couple of things before we get started. Feel free to make yourself at home and sit anywhere you like.”

“Thank you,” he says, gratefully.

The doctor rummages through her drawers for something and upon finding what she was looking for, Dr. Ziegler lets out a triumphant sound. With a clipboard now in her hands, she makes her way back over to him and crosses her legs once she sits down in her office chair, motioning for him to come closer. “We’ll start for some general questions and then move on from there, okay? I need to start your file.”

Nodding in understanding, Hanzo sits up straighter and folds his hands in his lap. “Yes, of course.”

They progress through the basics easily before moving onto the physical; Dr. Ziegler has him running on the treadmill to test his health and endurance. He performs flawlessly of course, but she frowns a little when she checks his breathing using her stethoscope. “Do you smoke?” She asks, brows turning downwards in displeasure.

“Only when stressed,” Hanzo replies. “I usually drink.”

Dr. Ziegler clicks her tongue in disapproval as she hangs the stethoscope around her neck. “That’s not much better. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the prolonged effects of alcohol, but if you’re going to drink, please do so safely and in moderation.”

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Hanzo scratches his cheek and looks away. He doesn’t remember the last time he was scolded and he’s oddly reminded of his mother after he’s misbehaved. “I understand.”

Standing to her feet, Dr. Ziegler moves to touch his arm again, running down the length of the dragon’s body with her pointer finger. She traces along its body before moving to study the raging bolt of thunder, blue eyes looking just as stormy. “You have them too, don’t you?” Dr. Ziegler asks, softly. “Dragons?”

“Yes,” Hanzo says, following her movements closely. Her touch is quite soft, gentle even. _Such is the nature of her practice_ , he thinks.

“Like Genji’s?”

Hanzo shakes his head. “Almost, but not quite. Two.”

She’s quiet for a moment, as if she’s thinking very hard about something in her head, and stops to just about the base of his hand where the dragon’s teeth gnash at her fingers. Delicately brushing the pads of her fingers against his skin, she smooths down the tension in his arm as if she knew. “This is what you used to hurt Genji then, is it not?”

Looking away, Hanzo flinches inwardly. “Yes… I was not a good man back then,” he says, feeling like a broken record. “I allowed the elders to manipulate me into killing my little brother.” The remorse on his face must have shown for Dr. Ziegler solemnly pulls away to tuck her arm against her side. “I was foolish and naive to think that I was somehow saving him.”

Dr. Ziegler is quiet again before she exhales sharply. “Ninety-six hours,” she states.

Hanzo turns to look at her immediately. “What?”

“I worked on Genji and performed a life-saving operation that took a little over ninety-six hours -- four days -- to complete.” Powerfully looking up to meet Hanzo’s eyes, her lips pressed together to form a thin line. “I’ve seen many things in my lifetime. Terrible, terrible things, Mr. Shimada,” Dr. Ziegler reflects, words cutting through Hanzo like a knife. “I however have _never_ seen anyone with the extent of Genji’s injuries.”

“I—”

Holding up a hand, Dr. Ziegler cuts him off. “I’m not finished.” Watching as Hanzo tenses, she tilts her head to the side. He doesn’t exactly say anything, but his actions were loud enough. She didn’t pity him though, not one bit. “Genji was brought to me with a dying heartbeat and was barely clinging to life. At one point, I had to manually pump his heart just to keep him alive.” One by one, her fingers drop and then rise again as she begins to take count, listing them off. “He suffered tremendous blood loss that day due to the multiple lacerations across his body, severed legs, torn ligaments, and stab wounds. I calculated that his chances of survival were minimal at best. Something _tore_ him apart.”

Gripping the fabric of his pants, Hanzo exhales slowly in an attempt to stay calm. _Breathe_ , he tells himself. _I am so sorry, little brother._ He wasn’t an idiot — he knew exactly what he did — but to hear it from an outsider? From someone like Dr. Ziegler who saves people for a living? It was devastating, humiliating even. The trained assasin in him, the one his family spent so long cultivating, was utterly ruthless that night and it showed. “Dr. Ziegler, I—”

“When he finally came to, he decimated half the building. Those dragons of yours? We had no idea of the amount of damage they could cause. We practically sedated him right then and there just to get him to calm down. He put up quite the fight; tore through our best agents like it was nothing.” Hanging her head a little in dismay, Dr. Ziegler lets out a sigh. “It took some time, but eventually, he began to trust us, and that’s when it happened. He wanted to walk again, you see, — on his own — so I did what I thought was best to help him...” Her face contorted in pain. “Rehabilitation, mental-breakdown,  and rehabilitation again. Genji repeated that pattern for months; it was like a vicious cycle.”

Hanzo is silent for a moment before he turns to her, his eyes casted downwards to his hands which are now fisting the fabric of his pants. “Dr. Ziegler, if I may say a few things,” he begins, clearing his throat. “From the moment I was born, I was promised the Shimada Clan. It was my birthright and what the elders had been preparing me for all my life.” The creases in his face tense briefly as he furrows a brow, remembering a time from long ago. “While Genji was out neglecting his duties, I was confined to the castle.”

She only frowns. “Was it anger then? Hate? Jealousy? Is that why you did it?”

“No,” Hanzo says, firmly. “I could never truly hate Genji.”

Dr. Ziegler stands to her feet as well, looking as fierce as his brother described in his letters. Her arms are crossed now, almost like a windstorm of fury. She’s shorter than him but as she stands up to her full height in another effort to size him up, the good doctor does not back down. “You _will_ tell me why.”

Before he can stop himself, a saddened chuckle slips past his lips as he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I cannot, at least, not yet.” Hanzo too stands to his full height and although they’re only separated by a couple of centimeters, he composes himself like the dragon he is. “This burden on my shoulders is for Genji’s ears only and until then, it shall remain as such. Although I may never find redemption, I still want to try.”

The blonde says nothing but her eyes soften if ever so slightly.

“For so long, I thought he was dead but that day, on the anniversary of Genji’s death, I saw him at Shimada Castle. He was alive, so very alive.  Reaching up to fist a hand over his heart, his overcoat bunching up slightly as Hanzo’s face turns to one of sorrow. “I wandered for years doing odd jobs such as mercenary work and bounty hunting, just trying to find my place in the world. Redemption does not come easy -- I know that -- but since then, I have been fighting many demons, both old and new, trying to find my way back on the path of honor.”

Tilting her head, Dr. Ziegler’s arms drop to hang by her sides. “And you think Overwatch can give you that?”

“I do not know,” Hanzo replies, shaking his head. “My brother wrote to me often and although I never responded, I found comfort in his words. He said I had to choose a side and if that side is Overwatch, then you’ll have me. My skills are unmatched and if this is what I have to do in order to redeem myself, so be it.”

“How can we be sure that you won’t hurt him again? That you won’t hurt any of us?”

Oddly enough, he’s reminded of his time with McCree up on the cliffside. “I am not the man I was once and as you can see,” Hanzo takes a moment to slide his palm against the shaven sides of his head and neatened topknot, “I left the name ‘Shimada’ behind long ago.” Averting his eyes slightly, Hanzo looks towards the framed picture Dr. Ziegler has of his little brother. He walks over to it, fingers itching to touch the image, and speaks in such a soft voice that she has to step forward to hear him. “I may no longer recognize his body but the heart of a man still beats inside him. I can see it in his eyes. It _is_ Genji.”

She does not speak for a few minutes, but when she does, her voice is soft. “It seems I’ve misjudged you,” Dr. Ziegler says, coming to stand behind him. “I apologize.” She doesn’t touch him, but Hanzo can feel the tension dissipating between them. The air feels lighter, calmer even, and it makes him visibly relax. “You must understand; Genji means the world to me. They all do. They’re the only family I have left.” Although her tone is still wary, it feels genuine, and more in tune with her comforting nature.

Hanzo turns to face her with a kind smile on his face. It’s small and curt, but a smile nonetheless. Once again, he’s reminded of McCree, and it warms him better than he’d like to admit. It must be nice to belong somewhere, a part of him thinks. He can only hope that someday he too could have that luxury. “So I’ve been told,” he manages.

“Overwatch was shut down for a reason, and for the longest time, I thought it would be best if it stayed that way, but the world is changing. There are still people out that need saving and for that, I am placing my trust in you, Mr. Shimada,” Dr. Ziegler says. “Please do not disappoint me.”

“I will do my best not to.” Before he can revel in the moment however, Hanzo blinks, almost as if he was remembering something, and clears his throat. His movements immediately draws her curious gaze. “Several months ago, I made a promise to myself that if I were to ever meet the one who saved Genji’s life, I would tell them these special words.”

“Oh?” The doctor hums, tilting her head slightly.

Letting his eyes fall shut serenely, Hanzo bows lowly, trying not let it show on his face how close his heart was to bursting. “Thank you.” No amount of heroism or good deeds could ever repay the gratitude he felt towards Dr. Ziegler for what she had done. “I am eternally grateful.” When he rises, there’s another smile on his face, and it’s even more radiant than the last. “Thank you for saving my little brother.”

“Of course, Mr. Shimada.” Although it takes a bit of time, Dr. Ziegler smiles back at him, a real honest-to-God smile, and it honestly takes his breath away. There’s finally some truth to Genji’s letters. It seems a little far-fetched to call her an angel, but if ever such a thing truly existed, she surely comes to mind.

A thudded knock sounds to their right just then as both Hanzo and Dr. Ziegler turn their attention towards it to greet their newcomer. Once again, dressed in nothing but a simple pair of sweatpants and red serape, is McCree. His hair is tied up in a messy ponytail that hangs low against his neck. He looks as though he’s just woken up, but the shadows under his eyes say otherwise. “Pardon the intrusion but uh,” he pauses, the back of his fist still pressed against the wooden door frame, “Athena said my arm’s ready?”

Dr. Ziegler blinks once, twice, and then a third time before her hands fly to her face. “Oh! Yes, that’s right! Torbjorn pulled an all-nighter last night while you were sleeping and dropped it off earlier this morning. If you’ll just excuse me a moment, I’ll go get it now.” Breaking away from Hanzo’s side, she quickly makes her way towards the back room to find the gunslinger’s prosthetic.

The corners of his lips curve up into a smile as McCree mutters a quick word of thanks. He brushes past Hanzo without a word and makes his way towards the cot Dr. Ziegler has set up at the northern side of the room. It looks too small for him but he doesn’t seem to pay it any mind as he takes a seat right in the middle and places a hand over his midsection. Once he settles, he nods his head over at Hanzo. “You doing anything today, Shimada?” McCree asks.

“As soon as Dr. Ziegler gives me the all-clear, I have a meeting with Winston to discuss my arrangements,” Hanzo replies. “After that, I’m not sure.” A part of him wants to explore the watchpoint some more, maybe go check out that shooting range McCree spoke about earlier, but the bigger part of him cries out for a smoke. Although his time with Dr. Ziegler went better than he thought it would, the anxiety he felt during their whole exchange still left him feeling antsy. He honestly doesn’t remember the last time he talked so much about himself. _One thing at a time_ , he thinks. _Take it slowly._

“Is that right? Well, how about I swing by once you’re done and take you ‘round back for some target practice? I’m itching to see that aim of yours.” His invitation is as genuine as the smile on his face, but Hanzo cautions those bags under McCree’s eyes. Did he not get any sleep at all last night? Surely the alcohol helped some?

A door slams behind them and out steps Dr. Ziegler who has his metal arm tucked under hers. “Jesse McCree,” Dr. Ziegler instantly reprimands, the sharp tut in her voice making him sit up straighter as if he’s been caught. “You know you’re not allowed anywhere near the training yard when you’re injured. I won’t allow it.” She points an uncapped pen at him with her other hand, the nib glinting dangerously in the light, and makes an effort to glare at him. “Don’t make me lock your permissions because I’ll do it if I have to.”

He lets out a nervous cough and holds up a hand. “Now, hold on there! I never said I’d be the one doing the shooting!” The doctor doesn’t look convinced and only grunts as she leans in closer, her piercing gaze locking him in place. It only makes McCree grin cheekily. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You better,” she threatens.

For a couple of minutes, Hanzo watches as the two banter back and forth about McCree’s apparently many bad habits -- “I told you _not_ to smoke in here, Jesse!” and “What did I say about watching your alcohol intake?” -- before he realizes how much he really does not want to be here, and clears his throat in an attempt to get their attention. “Dr. Ziegler,” Hanzo calls. “Are we finished here?”

Dr. Ziegler turns to look over her shoulder at him and nods. “For now, yes. There are still a few things I’d like to discuss with you concerning your dragons but we can always do that later.” She offers him a smile and for the second time today, it’s genuine.

Hanzo doesn’t even want to admit how nice that feels and instead, bows thankfully. “In that case, I will take my leave.” Pivoting on his feet, he’s only able to take a few steps when Dr. Ziegler calls out to him again.  

“Actually, Mr. Shimada?” Dr. Ziegler asks, beckoning him forward. “I’m sorry to ask but before you go, could you assist me for a few minutes? I need someone to help stabilize Jesse while I calibrate the new prosthetic to his nerves.”

Hanzo looks towards McCree for confirmation and although McCree doesn’t say anything, he doesn't question the silence. Moving towards him, Hanzo watches sympathetically as the other hangs his head in dismay. He can already see the tension in McCree’s shoulders as he gets closer and it honestly makes him feel a little bad. He doesn’t even want to think about the kind of rehabilitation Genji went through in order to get accustomed to his new body. “Yes, of course,” Hanzo answers, finally.

“Much obliged, Shimada,” McCree mutters. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“How can I help?” Hanzo asks, patiently.

Dr. Ziegler smooths her hands down McCree’s left arm, gently applying pressure and massaging the scarred skin as her fingers squeezed and move delicately around the stump. “When Jesse resurfaced a few weeks ago, I had Torbjorn engineer a new arm for him — one that we can keep track of and monitor should the need arise — for vitality’s sake. Since it is new however, it’s natural for the body to resist the intrusion at first. Because of that, it can be painful for some people.”

Hearing that only makes Hanzo’s frown deepen. “I see.”

“I try to connect the nerves as quickly as possible but in order to do that,  I need you to hold Jesse down.” Tilting her head towards McCree, Dr. Ziegler motions for Hanzo to come forward until he’s standing directly in front of the gunslinger.  “He’s a bit of a fighter so he’s been known to thrash quite a bit. I’m sure you can imagine how much harder he makes it to complete my job.”

“Angie, that ain’t fair! Hit a man where it hurts, why don’t you?” McCree whines.

She pats his cheek fondly and smiles just as apologetically. “I know, Jesse, I know.” Getting serious however, Dr. Ziegler looks towards Hanzo once more. “Place your hand here and here,” she says, pointing to McCree’s right shoulder. “He just needs someone to anchor himself to so please remember to support him as best you can.”

Hanzo doesn’t want to overstep, ever mindful of his surrounding, and looks to McCree for any signs of discomfort. They’re standing close enough that he can practically smell the lingering smoke emanating from the serape — Hanzo doesn’t even want to admit how nice it smells -- and it makes him shake his head in shame. “My apologies.”

“S’alright, darlin’,” McCree says, softly, almost as if he understands Hanzo’s hesitation. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

The archer willingly complies then, placing his right hand atop McCree’s shoulder. The broad shoulders are hardened muscle under his palm but there’s scars too, befitting of McCree’s stature really. The touch is too intimate, especially for someone like him, and that alone is enough to makes him avert his eyes.

Looking back and forth between the two, Dr. Ziegler bites her lower lip. “Are you two ready?” Both men nod back, one of which sucks in a breath, as she begins the countdown. “Five,” she begins, wanting to give McCree more than enough time to mentally prepare himself. “Four.”

The archer watches as the fingers of McCree’s right hand curl into a fist, his whole body tensing up. Behind him, Hanzo can hear Dr. Ziegler clicking her tongue disapprovingly in an attempt to placate McCree. It only makes Hanzo want to give the younger man a comforting squeeze. “It’ll be over soon,” he reiterates. 

McCree chuckles smugly. “That don’t make it any easier.”

“No,” Hanzo agrees, lowering his voice if ever so slightly as he trailed off. Almost as if he was speaking to himself now, his brows knit together solemnly. “No, it doesn’t.”

Dr. Ziegler tuts with her tongue again and taps on McCree’s cheek to get his attention. “Jesse.”

“Right,” McCree apologizes. “Sorry, Angie.” Bracing himself once more as she resumes her countdown, he tries his best to push away the urge to bite down on his lower lip. She’s probably told him hundreds of times already how ill-advised it is to do so but he couldn’t help it. Whether it was through further bloodshed or spilling his own blood, Deadlock taught him to fight pain with pain. Survival of the fittest, they used to tell him, kicking and beating him during his first outcry. After all, isn’t it better to choose your pain? It was a habit he unfortunately couldn’t quite shake.

A low, soft-sounding hum rumbles from Hanzo’s throat. “Try to relax,” he says.

“Three,” Dr. Ziegler counts, giving McCree one last chance to ready up.

McCree sucks in a breath.

“Two.”

His shoulders tense.

“One.”

A sharp hiss cuts through the air followed by a loud cuss and Hanzo braces himself as McCree recoils almost instantly, his body practically jerking and thrashing with tremors. McCree is strong, but Hanzo is too, holding him down with an ironclad grip. He can hear McCree and Dr. Ziegler squabbling now as she hurries to jot down all the readings but Hanzo is honestly not listening. He can’t help but think, _What did Genji have to endure to be the man he is today?_

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: [@aominaes](http://twitter.com/aominaes)


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